Figuring Out My Life
by Kiwi Anime
Summary: I feel like I’ve got my life figured out. Not quite, but I’m getting there...I think. Continuation of 'Where Is My Life Going' and 'A Thing Like Life'. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So, I've started a new idea: I don't start posting a fan-fiction until I've finished it. So, actually, at the time I'm writing this story, I've already finished 'Where Is My Life Going?' and posted Chapter Two yesterday. So, from now on, I'm posting the dates at the start of my A/Ns, because (obviously) I could have written the chapter weeks before I posted it. XXDD I'll do it in 'Mark Documentary' style.

December 31st, 4:20 PM, Central Standard Time. I'm in my room, debating whether or not to go to go to the New Years Eve dance tonight. I can play sick if I don't want to. (Won't have to work hard, I feel like shit anyways.) My contacts were hurting my eyes yesterday, so I look like Mark today in my dorky glasses. XD

This is a continuation off of Mark's life series, which started with 'A Thing Like Life' and continued with 'Where Is My Life Going?'. So, if you haven't read those fics, both of them are only seven chapters long. I've had the idea for this continuation brewing ever since I wrote Chapter...Three of WIMLG. You'll see why eventually. –evil smile- I know something you don't know...

Part I of Mark's Life series, 'A Thing Like Life', and Part II, 'Where Is My Life Going?', can be foundin my profile.

Thisstory has been rated PG-13 for **language**, **mild violence**, and **drug reference**.

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG for **mild language**._

**Figure Out My Life – Chapter One**

I pull out my trusty camera from its bag, sitting on the couch, and flip it on, focusing the camera on Roger as he looks through the phone book and frantically calls yet another restaurant. I begin my commentary to let him know I'm filming. "February 17th, 3:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time. Roger's currently fussing over whether Mimi would like a fancy Italian restaurant or just a trip to Life." I look over my camera at him, one eyebrow raised. "You know, Rog, it would probably be easier to go to an Italian place. Life's gonna be so noisy. And you might run into some of the others."

Roger looks up at me, hanging up the phone in mid-dial. "You haven't told anybody, right?"

I pace my right hand (the one not holding my camera up) over my heart in a mocking fashion. "Of _course_ not." I put my right hand back on the camera so as to steady it better, resuming my commentary. "He's begged me not to tell anybody, even though I'm really dying to let them in on the secret." I earn a nasty look from Roger as he turns the page of the phone book in his anger, accidentally ripping it halfway out of the book. He rolls his eyes as I laugh for a moment before resuming the commentary once again. "He wants to be able to break the news to Mimi first before anybody else knows." I look over the camera once again at him, smirking despite myself. "And I'm just a nifty exception, of course."

Roger doesn't even look up at me as he shouts across the room. "Just shove it. Oh, uh, no sir, I wasn't talking to you...I'm very sorry to have offended you..." I see him roll his eyes as whoever he's talking to goes into a tirade. "Look, man, I just want to see if I can hear what some of your prices are...OK, thank you." He puts his hand over the receiver, glaring up at me. "Mark, PLEASE. Can you do that somewhere else! I'm on the phone." He takes his hand off of the receiver. "Yes, I'm here...OK, what are a few of your prices? ...WHAT! For a lousy plate of pasta!"

Shaking my head and laughing, I stand up from the couch, walking into my room and shutting the door behind me. I sit on the bed, turning the camera around to face myself. "Speaking of Maureen and Joanne, Joanne might be able to buy a new apartment soon, a little bigger than the tiny one-room-one-bathroom thing Maureen and Joanne have been sharing. It might actually have _two_ rooms now. Collins was able to return to NYU this morning, and I received an excited phone call from him to check the news. We're all impressed that his override of the computers made the mid-day news, and even more impressed that nobody has traced it back to him. As usual, or as usual as life is, everybody is doing wonderfully in the Alphabet City Avant-Garde."

I sigh, looking dead on at the camera as it continues to roll, filming me. "And I feel like I've got my life figured out. Not quite, but I'm getting there...I think."

I turn the camera back around, switching it off and setting it down on my bed. I hear Roger shout through my closed door. "You cheap skates! I'm trying to plan dinner for my girlfriend, _hopefully_ my fiancéYes, I'm proposing...I don't _care_ if you can arrange a special table, you're prices are rip offs!" I hear Roger slam the phone down, letting out a long, angry sound through his gritted teeth. I roll my eyes, walking back into the 'living room', even though it's never been that homely.

"Roger, you've got to relax. Mimi isn't going to say yes if you yell at her all night." I sit down on the couch again, watching as Roger angrily runs his finger down the page, looking for another restaurant to call. "Just calm down. You think she's gonna say 'no'?"

Roger looks up at me, and I can swear I _do_ see a small amount of fear in his eyes. "It's damned stressful, Mark! You've never proposed, so you don't get how it feels."

"Actually, I did propose to somebody once." I look away, smirking at the memory.

Roger freezes, and I know he hadn't been suspecting my answer. "...Not _Maureen_!"

"No, no..." I laugh slightly. "I was a little kid, and I had this 'girlfriend' in elementary school, Barbara Tugger. She was Nanette's best friend in middle school. I asked if she would marry me, and we got married on the playground during recess."

This causes Roger to crack up hilariously, and I laugh with him, the memory of me kissing the small fourth grader on the cheeks almost too much to handle. He looks back up at me, his face tinted purple from laughing. "You had a wedding in elementary school? Who was the minister, hmm? The class nerd? Or was that you?"

I laugh, cupping my hand over my mouth to suppress the laughs. "Nah, I was actually quite the popular one in elementary school, if that's hard to believe."

"It is." Roger laughs softly for a moment before picking the phone back up and dialing a number from the phone book. A pause. "Hey, can you tell me some of the prices for your restaurant? ...What's that? Some kind of pasta plate? ...Oh..." Roger nose scrunches up slightly. "Erm...no, I don't want to place a reservation. Not hungry." He hangs up the phone as quickly as possible, looking at me with a stunned look on his face. "Who in the WORLD would eat frog's legs!" This sets me off once again, and I have to leave the room to finish laughing so that Roger can call another restaurant.

.-.-.

I'm walking along the streets, since Roger eventually told me that he would rip the works out of my camera and burn it if I didn't leave the house. Even though I knew it was a shallow threat, I left anyways, a bit of fresh air sounding like a good idea.

I find myself pulling my camera out again, filming passerby and bums on the street corners. Do I feel disconnected doing this? It's a muted connection, and one-way connection...and Roger doesn't like it when I do it. Deep down, I tell myself that I should stop doing it, give up. It's one thing stopping me from getting my life together.

_Maybe there's a way to break the circular motion._

"Hey! You!"

My heart leaps a mile as I hear a voice shouting behind me. Immediately suspecting the worst, I break into a run, running as fast as I can down the streets of New York, wishing I had taken my bike...

"Hey, wait! Wait! Aren't you...Mike?" I realize that it is a man's voice I'm hearing, and I slow down, finally coming to a complete stop. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I'm turned around (a little roughly) by a man with a face I only vaguely remember. He looks at me with a dazed expression. "Mike the filmmaker?"

I blink, suddenly remembering him in his entirety. _"You a filmmaker or something?"_ "...Gruff, isn't it?"

The man nods. "That's me." He looks over his shoulder, yelling off. "HEY! RUBE! CUM'ERE!"

A moment later, a woman I remember meeting with Gruff rushing up. Her eyes look at me for a second with a cloudy gaze, and then clear up in understanding. "Mark. The filmmaker."

I nod, slightly dazed. The last time I had seen them, I was thinking of taking the next train out of New York, no matter where it was going. "Yeah."

"Guess you came back, 'eh?" The woman had that smirk, but it wasn't quite as sauntering as I remembered it from a few nights ago.

I shrug. "Suppose so. Ended up leaving and coming back." I wasn't about to tell them my story. Even if they had helped me a bit when I collapsed in the streets of New York without even stealing anything of mine, I hardly knew them.

"You look better." The guy says this without any hesitation, but he doesn't say it with any sincerity either. "Better than that night."

I shrug again. "Yeah, I guess. I gotta go." I turn around, for some reason very uncomfortable around them. I think it's a combination of the fact that they're junkies and that they are from a time in my life I wanted to leave behind.

But I haven't walked three steps when the woman's voice speaks out. "You guess?"

I pause, turning back to face 'Rube'. "Yeah." Why does she care at all? I hardly know her.

I saw the same smirk that I remember Rube having the night I saw her first, and it immediately makes me feel uncomfortable. "You look like you could use an escape."

I blink, confused. "Excuse me?"

"When life's tough, you just gotta fly a little bit." She stretches her eyes out to her sides, resembling an airplane.

I back away immediately, my eyes wide. "Woah, no. You can 'fly' as much as you want. I'm never touching that stuff."

Suddenly the man talks, a slightly misted voice, almost softer around the edges than the rough one he usually speaks with. "Man, you need a trip. Your feet may be on the ground, but your soul wants to fly. I see a trapped soul when I know one."

Rube smiles at me, and I hate the smile she has. "Gruff here showed me how to escape. I was like you, Mark. I didn't know what to do with my life."

_Turn around and walk away, you idiot. Before you try to do something you'll regret._ "How do you know I don't know what to do with my life, hmm? I'm actually...quite happy with how I'm living." I can't help the hesitation. It's there.

Her smirk widens. "Of course you are. Just come for a day, Mark. Fly with us. It doesn't matter if you're smart or dumb. Everybody can fly the same with us..."

"NO." I turn around immediately. "I'm not...I won't...Sorry." I literally run as fast as I can away from them, as if they had just threatened to kill me. I was never going to go down that path, no matter how hard my own was. I wouldn't make a stupid mistake like that. Never.

_Or would I? You've done some stupid stuff in the past, Mark._ Nothing like that. If I was to try to use smack, or coke, or any of that stuff...that would be the dumbest of dumb. _But you'd do it, wouldn't you? If it got hard enough, you might try it..._NO! I pull out my camera, as if to hide from the evil voice in the back of my head that constantly taunts me, haunting me. I wouldn't. I would never do that to Roger and Mimi and Collins and everybody. Never...right?

.-.-.

"Hey, Mark." I say nothing to Roger, tossing my camera bag on the couch. "...Mark?"

"I'll be in my room." I walk into my room, shutting the door behind me, falling backwards onto my bed and exhaling loudly. Why the hell would I ever try something like that?

I'm trying to get my life together. I mean, I started yesterday, doing the whole scavenger hunt trick with Roger. That had been such a relief to finally make up. It had been harder without him. But it was still hard.

"Mark?" I look up, seeing Roger peek through the now half open door, concern etched all over his face. "What's up?"

I exhale once again, sitting up on the edge of my bed. "Thinking."

Roger shrugs. "Know what you mean."

I look up at him. "You're not second-guessing tonight, are you?"

Roger walks into my room, sitting down next to me on the bed. "Well, I dunno. Just thinking...how the hell I can express to Mimi in a minute what she means to me to make her say 'yes'."

"Rog, you're thinking this over too much." I look at him, but he's looking straight ahead, consumed in his thoughts and worries. "You just do it."

Roger looks up at me, smiling weakly. "Just do it, hmm? Works for me." He laughs lightly, and I laugh with him, to make him think that I'm feeling fine. The mask doesn't work. "OK, now you get to spill."

I sigh, looking away from him. "It's just...I ran into these two people just now. They woke me up when I first...left." Roger says nothing, and I know his brow must have furrowed at this point. The scars of our fight have still not healed completely with us. "And...they told me I should try and find another way to leave my life behind." I look up at him, and I see the concern in his eyes. "They asked me if I wanted some smack."

Roger stared at me with wide eyes. "Y-you refused, right?"

I blinked, amazed. "Of-of course, Roger! What, you think I might actually try using to get away?" Roger says nothing, but I can tell by the concerned look in his eyes that he does. I stand up, walking away from him. "Forget I even said it." Silence. Roger didn't move to do anything, didn't make as if to say something. "You should start getting ready for tonight. It's already five."

Silently, Roger stood up from the bed, heading for the door. He paused in the doorway. "Don't shut us out, Mark. We're your family, remember?" With that, I hear him walk away and the sound of the door closing behind him.

"I know," I say softly, even though I know he can't hear me. That's what I have to tell myself. They're my family. And they won't leave me if they can help it. Unless...I turn the dark thought away before it can even completely formulate in my mind. No. Don't think about that. That's what gets you started. Break the circle...

.-.-.

**A/N**: January 1st, 7:00 PM. So it took me a day to write this. I ended up going to the dance last night. I had a little red blow horn, and a party hat. And when midnight came, I just popped my popper while my best friend kissed her boyfriend next to her on the cheek. I was a little jealous at first that I didn't have anybody to kiss last night, and never have. Yes, I've always been single. I'm a sophomore in high school, and I've never had a boyfriend. –sigh- But I don't let it get to me. I just write, and my characters get to have all the romance and stuff. XD


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** January 1st, 7:20 PM, Central Standard Time. Yes, I just finished writing Chapter One. But nobody's gonna get to see this until I finish it. (The funny thing is, I don't have a cement finish in my mind yet.) No ideas if this series is gonna have ANOTHER sequel or not. I see possibilities for one after this, but it depends on how I finish it. ;) So, enjoy!

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **mild language**, **mild violence **and **drug reference**._

**Figuring Out My Life – Chapter Two**

"OK...how do I look?"

I look up from my moviola, the film I'm editing paused in mid splice. Roger looks much better than he usually does: he's wearing a pair of slacks he's borrowed from me and a cheap polo shirt under a dinner jacket (also mine). His hair is neatly combed (for once), and he actually doesn't look that bad. "Like Prince Charming."

"Prince Charming, eh? Think it's proposal worthy?" Roger strikes his most sophisticated pose, accompanied with an arched right eyebrow and a smirk. The sight of him acting so professional sets me off, and I find myself rolling on the floor as Roger glares icicles in my direction. I finally calm down enough to sit up, get one look at Roger glaring at me, and start all over again. "I do NOT see how this is funny!" Roger yells at me, but I know he isn't really mad at me. "If you're just gonna keep laughing like that, I'm going on with Mimi."

I wipe a tear away as I sit up. "Good luck, Rog."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Thanks." He smirks at me lightly, abandoning his anger, and I shrug, getting back to my moviola. I hear him walk out the front door, taking the stairs down to Mimi's apartment.

I watch my footage, watching the film from that afternoon. All is quite normal at first, as I film the passerby and bums on the corners. I watch as I suddenly begin running, abandoning my camera and the picture films the ground. My brow furrows, and I begin the cut, cutting all the way to the end of that encounter. I don't want to remember that. It was too...too...

"MARK!"

I look up, hearing a faint yell coming up from the open window. I leap up, leaving the picture frozen on the moviola, rushing over to the window. I climb on to the fire escape, and I see Roger looking up at me from the floor below, and the first thing I notice is that his eyes are filled with fear. "MARK! HURRY!"

I rush down the steps, my feet clanking on the metal fire escape, my heart threatening to jump out of my rib cage. "Roger! What is it!"

"Hurry...Oh, hurry..." He rushes back into Mimi's apartment, and I suddenly fear the worst...

I rush into the apartment through the window and freeze. Roger is at the front door, holding Mimi, who is shaking uncontrollably...and there is something red soaking both of them... "Oh, no..."

"Mark, she just came up the stairs...somebody must have jumped her on the street..." He had taken off my jacket, and he was getting blood all over the cheap polo shirt he had bought, but he didn't care. She was shaking like mad...I can do nothing but stand by the window, staring at the two of them, frozen, stunned... "MARK! DO SOMETHING!"

I jerk out of my stupor, rushing over to the phone, picking it up, dialing three numbers. _Riing_... "911 Emergency."

"Hello, I need an ambulance here, quick...a girl just got jumped on the street...I'm in the apartment building on Avenue B and 11th street...thank you..." I hang up, the hand holding the phone shaking. I stand there, too scared to face Roger...

"Mimi, oh God, Mimi..." I face him, and I almost fall to the ground as my knees threaten to cave in. He is holding her so close, putting his entire body right over a massive wound in her chest. He's shaking so hard... I don't know if it's because he is holding Mimi, or if he is just as afraid as she is...as I am..."Mimi, God..."

.-.-.

I sit in the hallway outside of the ER, my face in my hands. Tonight, of all nights...It couldn't possibly be fatal, not now. They were that close to such an amazing future...they would have everything, together...

Roger had asked me to come in with him to help him be with Mimi, but I refused, saying he needed time alone with her. I couldn't stand to see Mimi's body there, the doctors surrounding her, trying to mend her body, damaged almost beyond repair...No, it couldn't be that bad. People got jumped every day in New York and it wasn't fatal...

Suddenly the door into the ER bursts open, and I look up to see Roger, his face red and blotchy, his eyes foggy. He sits down next to me, combing his hand through his hair. I can even see a few strands on his fingers, and know he must have been doing this a lot. I try to think of something to say, something to make him feel better, but then I know that nothing would work. Then I wonder if I should ask him how Mimi's doing, but I know that would be even worse. We remain silent for ages, neither of us looking at her, not wanting to say anything.

The door opens, a little slower this time. A man in a lab coat walks out, and both Roger and I leap up, looking at him with wide eyes. He blinks, turning to Roger, and I hate the painful look on his face. "Something must have gotten into her system through the wound, and we're trying to control her." Silence as I see Roger struggling to remain calm. "She's about to go into OR. If you want to talk to her, you have a minute."

Roger rushes in, and I know I should go with him, to help him, but I can't seem to stay standing as I collapse back into my chair. I wait, the minute seeming like an hour, then a year, eons of waiting. Waiting for my future to take grip on myself. This can't be happening. Not just when I had begun to trust everyone around me. My family would never leave me...not even a day later, they're slipping away...

I hear noises in the ER as suddenly a group of men and women burst out of the ER, wheeling a gurney down the hall. I get one glance at the woman on there, her eyes closed in an induced sleep as she shakes still, wires all over her frail and thin body. It's as if whoeverattacked Mimi has just stabbed me in the heart as she suddenly disappears from sight. Moments later, Roger emerges through the swinging doors, a single tear frozen on his cheek. I look up at him, and he looks at me. He laughs sourly, and my heart rips in half. "She said yes."

I look away from him, unable to see his cloudy green eyes so full of pain. "Congratulations."

"She told me to make sure you don't do...don't do something stupid, and I asked her if she would marry me if she got out of here. And she said she would." His throat seems to close up as he sits down on the chair next to me again, and I don't have any energy (or ability) to say anything to this, so he continues, his voice racked with sobs. "Dunno if she meant she would marry me or if she would get out of here, though..."

We sit there for what seems like days on end, silent. Neither of us wants to decide which she meant. I check my watch often, making sure we haven't been there for as long as it seems. 8:10. I can't believe this had to happen tonight, and I can tell Roger can't believe it either. He had been so hopeful, so ready to give up anything for her. 8:20. God, if she dies...Roger will never get over it. Never. It'll be worse than April. Sure, he loved April. But Mimi...he was willing to die for Mimi. 8:25. What about me? What about _me!_ Will _I_ ever get over it? Will the sight of her body, covered in blood, drenching herself and Roger, be forever imprinted on my mind, even stronger than all those millions of images I have filmed? 8:45. God, I can't stand it any longer. It's only been almost an hour, but it feels like years. Years trapped with my own tortured thoughts. I vaguely realize that Roger is shaking hard next to me, his hand covering his face. I realize he must be crying, but I'm so lost in my own emotions, I can't imagine how I can help him. 8:49. God, we need a miracle. Why has she been in there for so long? Horrible images of doctors rushing around, as a heart monitor displays a straight line...Roger, sobbing uncontrollably...8:50. Please don't let her die...for Roger's sake...for _my_ sake...

"Excuse me." Both of us look up immediately, but neither of us seem to have the strength to stand. A doctor is standing there, his hands folded.

Roger's own shaky voice speaks before I have the chance. "Is she...?"

The doctor bows his head. I stand up, unable to believe it. "No..." I see my feet carrying my trembling body away, as if I am not that person feeling this. I'm not feeling it. I am miles above my body, watching as these events fall into place, as if they were destined to do so. I vaguely hear the doctor explain to us that she simply lost the will to live after an hour of operation, and they could do nothing. It's too much...too much...

I find myself trapped in arms, and I collapse, sobbing. "Mark! Oh, god, no..." A woman's voice? Maureen. I'm in the lobby now, and I suddenly hear multiple footsteps and I find myself surrounded by people, all of us entwined in a hug. Everybody must be there...but I'm not there. I watch my body tremble, as if in another world. It's so surreal, so impossible, that it can't be possible. Then, suddenly, I'm on the ground, left alone, in my own despair. I can't escape my nightmare of a life anymore. My arms shaking, my whole body shaking, I stand up, and I rush out of the lobby. Where can I go? How can I escape this hell!

.-.-.

**A/N**: January 3rd, 4 PM, Central Standard Time. It took me a while to get this chapter done. –blink- So it's technically quite short, but judging on everything that happens, it's pretty good. Especially since I wanted what happens next to have it's own chapter... :D But you get to WAIT two days before you find out what that is! HAHA! MUAHAHA! MUAHA- -cough hack- ...Ahem.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** January 3rd, 4:10 PM, Central Standard Time. I got home from school not too long ago, and I simply have to write this chapter. It's been brewing in my head for aaaages...and trust me, this will be VERY difficult for me to write.

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **language** and **drug reference**._

**Figuring Out My Life – Chapter Three**

What is it with my life! Just when I think it's all getting better and I've got everything figured out, something comes along and screws it up. It's this cycle that seems to contain my life! I can't break this chain of events. It's always going to end up like this. First, a moment of understanding, of truth and connection. Then this. Then isolation, depression. Then another moment of connection with the world and my family...and then this. It's always going to be something, whether it be Roger yelling at me, or...God, no, why Mimi? Why did it have to be Mimi, tonight!

I stop running, unable to run any further. It is only now that I seem to awaken from my blind trance and feel as if I'm a part of my body. I'm not looking down on myself, with only my demented and twisted mind to keep me company. I'm here. The world around me, it's all here. On the cold streets of New York at 10:00 at night. But where am I? I look around for a street sign, and I see that I made it to 14th street. So I'm at least in either East or West Village. I walk around for a moment, looking for a sign to tell me which avenue I made it to. Avenue C.

No sooner has this location processed in my mind do I hear voices somewhere down the street. They're soft, and I can't understand what they're saying. Furiously trying to wipe my tear-stained face off with my scarf, I venture forward, curious despite myself. Every fiber of my being tells me I could get mugged doing this, but a part of me thinks that wouldn't be so bad. Maybe I'd go unconscious for a minute. I might even get amnesia and forget tonight has even happened...I round the corner into an alleyway, peeking down the shadowy lane for the source of the low voices...

I hear scuffling, and I back away, immediately thinking that they must be robbers or gang members of sorts. I hear footsteps, uneven and staggered, coming towards me, and my numbed brain considers turning around and running. But before I can move another inch, I see a beam of moonlight slant across the face of one of the two figures I can now see.

"False alarm, Gruff," says the woman, and I can see that distinguishing smirk I connect with that woman so easily. "It's our filmmaker friend."

The second figure comes into view, the man I recognize quite easily now. They're the two junkies I encountered just this afternoon, only hours ago. And from the looks of them, they were getting ready for another night of highs. The man now has the distorted smirk on his face, and it makes me shiver (even though I'm shaking already). "Hey, filmmaker. You look like you've seen a ghost."

My eyes go wide for a moment as the impact of what he just said hits me. Next thing I know, I'm on the ground, on my knees, shaking, staring at the cement, holding back my tears. The woman kneels down next to me. "Hey, kid, calm down."

I try to process what she's saying, try to make heads or tails of it, but my foggy brain can't. All I can think is how Mimi is...dead. She's dead, and she left Roger. She left Roger...she left me... "I hate my life." My voice is shaking, but I am still holding back my tears.

A pause. "Then let's try a different life for a while."

I look up at the woman, feeling like a child who is lost and has nobody to turn to. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"I mean that you need to grow some wings, kid." She has that amazing smirk on her face, and I realize something: in a way, she's happy... "Life's getting you down, and gravity's just pulling you down...so you gotta fly." Her eyes connect with mine, and I see a fire in those eyes I haven't seen before, of excitement... "Come on, Mark. Just for tonight."

I find myself standing, shaking still. "OK."

"That's the ticket," Rube says, patting me on the back, leading me into the alley. "All of us have shitty lives. We'll show you how to fly away from that life you hate. Like a flock of birds, Mark. We're gonna fly together..."

Rube eases me into sitting down against the wall, deep in the shadows of the alleyway. Her promises fill my ears, promises nobody else has ever given me. My family has abandoned me...and she is promising me so much. Is it really that wonderful? All I want is to escape...is this the only way out? I feel Gruff roll up the sleeve of my long-sleeved shirt and tie a cloth around my upper arm, just below my elbow, and I find that I'm not shaking as hard. In fact, Rube's warm arms, rubbing my back and tracing shapes around my spine, are almost soothing and even relaxing. I close my eyes, giving in to the whole grand elusion of the entire thing, and with a sharp prick somewhere on my forearm, I'm gone.

I love every minute of it. We take turns shooting up with the needle, as if like blood brothers. We're a flock of birds, and we'll fly together, bonded by our wings. I feel my soul leaving my body, leaving the world of pain that I have been trapped in, and for one almost magical night, I'm free.

.-.-.

I find myself lying on the cold cement. My eyes flicker open slowly, and I see just a flicker of sunlight seeping into the alley. I slowly sit up, and all at once I find myself trapped in this world. I look around, almost panicking. I can't stay in this world. Not for so long. I need to leave again...I fumble around blindly (my glasses seem to have disappeared) for the needle on my hands and knees, hoping there is just a small amount left. I find the needle, but cannot tell if there is even anything left. I hold it very close to my face, and the slightly less blurred image tells me we used everything last night. I drop the needle to the ground, and hear the sharp shattering of glass.

Suddenly, a figure I had not been able to see before stirs, and I move away from it with slurred movements. I see the blurred figure come right up to me. There is a pause. "Fuck! You broke our needle!" The man's voice is slurred, but it's angry...it scares my foggy brain.

"I...I..." I can't seem to be able to come up with any good excuse.

I hear what sounds like a growl, and I see another figure come up, possibly a woman, but then again, my brain can't piece much of anything together. "What! The kid broke our needle!"

"Dammit..." From what I can tell, Gruff is desperately trying to pick up the pieces of the needle, as if able to salvage them. I crawl backwards, up against the wall, as if afraid he's going to attack me. After a pause, I hear more shattering glass: he has thrown the pieces to the ground. "Dammit!" Suddenly, I'm flat against the wall as two very strong hands pin me against the wall, pulling me up. I struggle, but somehow all of my strength has abandoned me. "You little...you broke our needle..."

"I-I didn't mean to..." I sound like a little kid again, trying to apologize for spilling grape juice on the prized living room rug. I'm pinned against the wall, unable to resist him, inches above the ground.

Suddenly, I feel one of his hands let go of my shoulder, and moments later I feel his hand grasping my throat. I gag, struggling to find air, but I can't breathe... "You motherfucker...you're gonna pay..."

"HEY! YOU!" I hear a loud, deep voice from somewhere, but I can't tell who it is, my brain trying to figure out why I can't breathe...the already blurry image in front of me is getting even blurrier, and I clench my eyes shut, suddenly afraid...I don't want to die...

All at once, I'm on the ground, on all fours, gasping for breath. All the noises around me are muted, and the sounds of two men fighting are dulled. I cough multiple times, trying to re-learn how to breathe. I inhale very sharply, my lungs suddenly filled with oxygen. The world around me sounds clearer, but I still can't even see anything. I feel somebody fall beside me, and I suddenly feel a strong arm lift me up, grunting for me to 'come on'. I oblige, staggering as quickly as I can, literally dragged out of the alleyway by the stranger...

After a while of staggering along, dizzy and confused, whoever is dragging me along stops, commanding me to sit. I oblige, literally collapsing, sitting against the brick wall of a building. I can just barely see the outline of somebody hovering in front of me. "You probably want these."

I feel cold metal on my face, and suddenly the image in front of me grows clear. I see a man in front of me, looking at me with concerned eyes. I sigh, long and loud. "Collins."

"In the flesh. Mark, you look horrible. Why the hell were you even back there? You were asking for trouble hanging out down here." He raises a hand, brushing off some dirt from my shoulder. "You're lucky I took the long way to the loft."

My stomach lurches, and all of a sudden last night comes back to me. "Collins...Mimi..."

"Shh." He places a finger on my mouth, silencing me from continuing. "I know. Come on. We need to get you to the loft. You look like you could use a warm bath."

He lifts me up under the armpits, and I can't find myself able to resist him. I feel almost sick at the thought of having to face Roger...I don't want to have to go through it, or see the look of pain in his eyes. Collins leads me along, offering me a shoulder to lean on. I realize suddenly that I'm very grateful I'm wearing a long-sleeved shirt; he can't see the tell-tale signs of last night. If he finds out, he'll hate me. He'll probably leave me. Just like I knew my entire family was going to leave me someday.

.-.-.

**A/N**: January 3rd, 10:30 PM, Central Standard Time. So, I was going to combine this chapter and the next one into one, but for one thing, together it was almost 3k words, and for another, I wanted to separate this actual incident from what happens next. PLEASE give me opinions on how I did. All I have to write on this is what I've heard and read, so it probably isn't realistic. Does anybody have any comments on it? Are all the after effects pretty accurate? (Eh, that's where I'm shakiest.) PLEASE tell me how I did. This was very difficult for me to write, believe me. How did I do? PLEASE, PLEASE review.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: January 3rd, 10:30 PM, Central Standard Time. I actually, as I said on the AN for the last chapter, was going to have this be the end of Chapter Three. So when I'm making the chapter the first half has already been written. I'm wondering how everybody is going to take my description of Mark...well, yeah. And, just to tell you, if I receive any reviews saying that they think I'm doing Mark's character wrong, PLEASE tell me why. Mark's character is really the whole point of this story, really the whole series. If I'm messing that up, PLEASE tell me now before I mess up too much.

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **language **and** drug reference**._

**Figuring Out My Life – Chapter Four**

After a long walk, Collins is almost dragging my almost limp body into the loft, calling out for Roger. When Roger emerges, he looks at me oddly. "What the hell happened to him?"

"Found him by 14th and Avenue C. He nearly got himself killed, had I not showed up." Collins dumps me on the couch, and I find myself shaking again, not for cold or fear or sadness, but from...a need, a thirst to leave thisworld behind...

"Figures. I'll get him fixed up." I look up at him, confused at his amazingly calm voice. Yet when he looks at me and our eyes meet, I see something I've never seen there before, something hard to describe...is it distrust? Disappointment? ...Suspicion?

Collins looks at Roger with a wary gaze. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and – "

"Go on and go." Now I'm positive what that look he's giving me means. He's suspicious. Suddenly, I realize what he'll think if he finds out what I did last night. He wouldn't understand how much I needed that, how much I need it now...he would think I had done it on whim. He doesn't understand...

"Well...all right. Call me." With one last uncertain look at me, Collins turns around and walks out of the loft, leaving me and Roger alone, me shaking on the couch, him standing over me with a stern gaze.

After a very painful silence, I look up at him with pleading eyes, about to defend my actions, deny anything he accuses me of, even open my mouth with an excuse formulized in my head...but the look he gives me cuts me short...almost as if he's hurt...

"Mark...why? Why did you..._leave_ me?" His hands are shaking, and I want to look away, but his gaze draws mine like a magnet, and I seem unableto break eye contact. "You left me, when I needed you..."

Just as I think up something to say in response, I feel as if a bullet is shot into my stomach. I double over, clutching my gut, and I groan from the sheer pain. Roger stutters. "Mark?"

"I-I need to be alone..." What if he caught on? What if he found out what was going on, what had happened last night? That I had left him to...get high? Dammit, why did I even do that? How could I? I stand up, rushing into my room, slamming the door a little too hard behind me. I almost collapse on my bed, wanting to scream from the pain. I feel sick to my stomach, and I try to get up to go to the bathroom, but suddenly my entire body is aching...my head, my stomach, every joint in my arms and legs...

"Mark!" I hear the door burst open, and I shield my eyes against the light coming in. I grab a pillow, trying to cover my eyes with it and block out the sudden light that makes my head throb. My eyes screwed shut, I want to scream...let out this pain...get away from this pain...

I feel a strong hand around my wrist, wrenching my hand away. The pillow falls, and my eyes snap open in fear. Roger is looking at me dead on. "What the hell happened last night?" He is so close, I can almost see myself reflected in his pupils. His eyes are confused, cloudy...suddenly, the clouds seem to part. "Mark..." He pulls my hand closer to him, and uses his other hand to wrench up my sleeve as I struggle to pull away from him.

I know he sees the track marks, however few they are, going up and down my forearm. He knew all along, didn't he? From the moment he saw me stagger into the loft, pale and sickly... "Roger, it's not...not..."

"God, Mark, you didn't..." Roger looks up at me, but I'm turning away from him, trying to pull my arm away from him, trying to escape him. His grip on my wrist loosens, and I fall on the bed, shaking. "You didn't."

"I did!" I'm sobbing into the blankets now. "God, Roger, I can't stand my life anymore! I had to get away! I...I have to get away..." _Fly...Life's getting you down, and gravity's pulling you down...so you gotta fly..._It was such an open invitation, and I am accepting that invitation with open arms.

"Mark, no..." He's crying now. I knew he wouldn't understand. "That's...It doesn't...Mark..."

"Don't you DARE accuse me of anything!" I yell at him, and I don't care that he's crying or if I'm hurting him. He doesn't understand how much it hurts now being in my painful life, or how blissful it was for me to escape. I have a _reason_...this is how I'm breaking the cycle. That's what I was supposed to do, wasn't it? Break the cycle. "YOU did it too! I thought YOU, of all people, would understand...I need it...I need to be able to fly..."

"Mark, you may think it's flying, but..." I can't even look at him. He doesn't understand... "Don't wreck your life like I wrecked mine."

"I'm not wrecking my life! I'm starting a new one!" I kept telling myself that. That was why I was now hooked, after just one night. I'm starting a new life. "Just...leave me alone..."

I feel the springs on the bed moan softly, and I hear footsteps as Roger stormed out of the room. "You helped me get off. So I'm going to help you. Before you wreck what you have that the rest of us lost." The room shakes slightly as he slams the door, the wobbly end table threatening to fall over if it's placed under more strain. I bury my face in my hand as I hear a soft click, and I know he's locked me into my room. How will I get out now? I can't stay in this world anymore...it's too...too...

_Too what? You keep saying everything is 'too' something, but you don't know what. Too what?_

_Too much. It's too much._

.-.-.

"Collins? Hey, it's me. No, he's not all right, dammit! He fucking...OK, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. But, Collins, the idiot...Collins, he...fine. I'll tell you when you get here."

I listen to Roger slam the phone down on its base, and both of us simultaneously give out a long sigh. Roger hasn't let me out of my room since he locked me in about an hour ago. Why the hell does he think he can do this? He can't control my life like this. He has no right.

_Come on, it could be worse,_ a cynical voice whispers to me. _At least you don't feel like your stomach's being ripped in half. Just your head._

I hear a loud rapping on my door, and I snap back, my nerves completely shot. "WHAT!"

"Mark, I'm going out for a minute. Stay in there."

"You can't lock me in my own room! I could call the police!" My hands are shaking as my nails dig into my palms.

"Too bad the phones in here." I can just see the sarcastic smile that curls his lips. "Try to calm down." With that, I hear his footsteps as he rushes away, muttering something under his breath. The sound of the door of the loft makes a metallic clang, and it shocks me into reality.

I'm locked in this room. Trapped, just like I'm trapped in my sick and tortured life. Somebody up there must _really_ hate me to do all this shit to me. I find a way to get out, and now I _need_ that way. Dammit, why doesn't he understand! He's too wrapped up in himself to realize what _I'm_ going through.

I hear an odd tapping noise from outside that jerks me sharply out of my thoughts. I blink a few times, listening as the tapping continues. It sounds like something rapping on glass...I raise the blinds of my bedroom window, craning my neck to see somebody standing on the fire escape, rapping on the window. I slowly crank the window open, whispering loudly over to them. "Hey!"

The woman turns her head to look in my direction, and sees my head sticking out of my bedroom window. A smirk plays across her features. "Hey, kid. Glad to see you're all cool."

"Help me out of here." I'm almost begging her, and I'm leaning as far out of the window as I can to look at her.

She smirks a me still. "Can't do that, or your buddy'll come looking for you. He doesn't understand, does he?" I shake my head vigorously. "But you understand. And I understand. Gruff doesn't understand how much people like you and me need it. He just does it for the high. But you and me...our lives suck. We weren't meant to have such horrible lives. We were meant to fly."

"You understand..." The words flow out of my mouth, but they don't seem to make sense on my lips, as if the puzzle doesn't connect in all the right places.

"Yes, Mark. So, I've got a present for you." She holds up a small baggy and a shining syringe. My heart leaps. "Eh, but I can't just give it. I need some cash to pay the man back."

"How much you need?" The prospect of getting out of my shitty life is too much to pass up.

The woman smirked. "Show me what you got."

I rushed into my room, digging for my emergency stash of money, pulling out a twenty dollar bill. It's old, but it's legal tender. I hold it out the window, and I feel the bill slip out of my hand, swiftly replaced by the small baggy and the needle. I pull them in, almost ready to try it again almost immediately. "When you get yourself out of there, you and I can fly together, like we did. Remember? You and me, Mark."

I nod at her, and she disappears down the fire escape, out of sight in seconds. I retreat into my room, knowing exactly what I have to do to gain my ticket on a train out of my shitty life...

.-.-.

"You say he did _what?_"

"I don't know why he did it, Collins. But he did it all last night probably. He's probably been going through torture all day. I didn't know what to help him, and I knew he'd try again if he left...so I locked him in his room."

"Smart move, Roger, for once."

"Gee, thanks for nothing." From another place, another dimension, another world, I faintly hear the sound of Roger unlocking the door into my bedroom.

"Hey, Mark...Mark? ...Mark!" Muted footsteps as two people enter my room.

"MARK! Oh, God..."

"Is he even breathing!"

"Mark..."

"Roger, check if he's breathing..."

"Mark...why..."

"Calm down, Roger..." I'm so far gone I hardly realize who is there, what they want. It doesn't matter...I'm a thousand miles above them...

"WHY!"

.-.-.

The next thing I know, I'm in a cold seat of a subway, shaking uncontrollably. I come plummeting back down to earth, and I hate it. God, what is it with this fucked up life? Why do I even have to come back? It's so painful...

Suddenly, I'm doubled over, feeling like I want to throw up once again. Strong arms are immediately around my shoulders, holding me very tightly. "Ok, deep breaths..." I oblige, not sure what else I can possibly listen to.

"Mark, calm down, me and Roger are here." Calm down? How can I calm down?"

"Keep breathing, you idiot, don't go back to that shallow breathing." I obey his words, at the moment understanding that he knows best. Maybe he does understand...No, he doesn't understand. I don't want to come back. I want to leave...Maybe I'll leave them, go find Rube. Now that I'm out of the loft, maybe I can get back to 14th street and Avenue C and find her. She promised me so much. _She_ seemed to understand...

"Oh, God..." Two single words are the only things that can escape my mouth when suddenly my vision grows hazy and cloudy,

The last few words I hear are probably from Collins, "The sooner we get there, the better," before my entire world fades into black.

.-.-.

**A/N**: January 4th, 12:40 AM, Central Standard Time. Yeah, I've got school tomorrow. And yeah, it's past midnight. Whoop de do. :P I had to finish writing this chapter. I REALLY hope I'm getting this description of Mark and his highs and the 'coming back to earth' accurate. I would _hope_ nobody has first-hand accounts of this sort of thing, but anybody who has more knowledge about it, I would LOVE if you would share it with me.

P.S. I read somewhere that the main side effect of taking heroin is constipation. Is this correct? I thought I heard people get pretty bad headaches. Again, I wouldn't know. TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT SMACK. ...That sounds so wrong. oo;;;


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: January 4, 4:00 PM, Central Standard Time. I actually got through today all right, considering I only got six hours of sleep. XD So, I feel like telling you guys about my life, even though you really just want me to get on with the fic, but HAHA! And if you skip to the start of the chapter, you might miss something important! Because God knows I often let little hints slip in the ANs. ANYWAYS...Sophomores are required to write a massive research paper, a process which takes up all of third quarter and ultimately counts for 60 of my History and English grades this quarter. So, everybody knows that third quarter is already the longest quarter of the school year (10 weeks), but on top of that, I have this research paper AND I'm in the chorus of the school musical...Oklahoma. –growls- If you've read my profile, you can guess that I'm very unhappy about this. ANYWAYS. On with the fic! (readers cheer silently)

P.S. OK, I had to re-write this chapter before posting it, which is why it's a day late. I would strongly appreciate the reviewer who said something about websites about heroin to e-mail me the sites. (Don't PM me, the URLS won't go through.) My e-mail is in my profile. I hope this is acurate enough...

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **mild language** and **some drug reference**._

**Figuring Out My Life – Chapter Five**

Oh, my head...what happened to me? Damn, my head hurts. Somebody might as well be pounding my skull in with a sledgehammer, and it would probably hurt less. I'm used to migraines, I get them alot, but this one is almost worse, if at all possible. OK, you know the procedure, Mark, I tell myself. Just try and get to sleep, and don't open your eyes, because you know that light hurts. And hope that Roger doesn't start playing his guitar or something, because that hurts almost more...

Shit. I'm not in the loft.

I warily open my eyes and find myself in a dark (for which I am grateful) room, but I know immediately that it isn't my own. Where am I? My throbbing brain is trying to piece the puzzle together. OK, you're not in the loft...you have a migraine that's the worst you can ever remember them being...and...damn, my stomach hurts...almost as much as it did when...

_Shit_. I can swear that my headache gets worse as it dawns on me, all of my memories. Why do I have to keep doing this? It's so painful going through this period of blissful ignorance only to come crashing back down to the rock solid ground. Everything around me is glaring at me, accusing me, some even laughing. I can swear the shadows around me are making noises, echoing everything in my mind a million times over. It's so hard...I don't want to keep doing this...I need to get away...

Suddenly, I feel as if my eyes are on fire as the room is suddenly filled with light. I moan with pain, wanting to lunge out and attack whoever had just made the light, but my head only throbs harder as I try to sit up properly. I press my palms against my eyes, but the pain only gets worse. My teeth grind against each other as I hold back near screams of pain.

"Relax, Mr. Cohen." I pause, even though the pain is still very evident. The light is gone, and I'm left lying on the bed that is not mine in a once more dark room. I push myself up onto my elbows and look around, squinting through the darkness. I can see a figure standing by the doorway. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." My eyes are closed again, because the sound of the voice is amplified a million times thanks to the headache. I don't bother being soft with them because I can tell it's a girl. In fact, for some reason, the fact that it's a girl speaking to me almost makes it worse.

There is silence for a while, and I want it to go on forever; my head is throbbing less from the absence of noise. But nothing good can last forever, as Collins has told me countless times in his philosophical manner. "Would you like some medication? It can help ease the pain."

I'm about to say something, but the impact of what she has said hits me. Nothing can ease the pain. At least this headache is distracting me from the pain of thinking about... "No." My eyes are clenched shut, trying to shut out a bit of the pain. I can her footsteps as the girl begins to make for the door. A thought jumps into my head, and I blurt it out before I can stop myself. "Where am I?"

There is yet another pause. "You're in the rehabilitation center. We're going to help you until you're fully recovered from your addiction." My mind goes blank, and I hear the footsteps resume. I have to duck under the covers to block out the brief flash of light that burns through my eyelids worse than fire, and I hear the door click shut, echoing in my numb brain, unable to process the severity of what she has just told me.

.-.-.

I must have been able to fall asleep (which must have been the first good thing to happen to me ever since...ever since.) eventually, because I can suddenly hear a voice from somewhere undistinguishable. "Mark? Mark?"

My eyes flicker open, and I'm almost thrilled to find that my headache is almost completely gone. It doesn't even hurt to look at the light. I'm almost ready to celebrate this event, when I get a closer look at the face hovering a few feet above mine. My heart falls to somewhere in my stomach, and my suddenly dry throat is hardly able to croak out the word I want to say. "Roger."

Roger smirks at me, but I can tell that he's only trying to act happy since he knows I must feel like shit. (Which I do.) I can see hurt in his eyes, pain almost equal to mine. "You sure freaked me and Collins out, man. Collins thought you were dead."

I look away from him, but I can still feel him watching me closely. "I..." Whatever words I had been planning to say suddenly escape me, and I'm left with my mouth half-open, struggling not to look up at Roger.

I see Roger sit down on a chair next to the bed I'm in out of the corner of my eye. "Mark, I just..." He stops, his words obviously failing him as well. "I just...don't know what to do."

I sigh, closing my eyes. "Me neither."

There is a long, drawn out silence that, unlike the last time I was awake, I hate with a passion. I want to tell him, try and make him understand...but I can't. Finally, Roger speaks. "Kind of...ironic, isn't it?"

I can't handle opening my eyes and looking over at him. "What?"

He's staring intently at his hands which are folded in his lap. "It's like we...switched places."

I look away, unsure at first what to say in response. Unable to think of anything better, I softly say, "I know."

There is another drawn out pause between us, during which I frantically try to think of something to say. All of a sudden, a thought creeps into my head, and I say, very softly, "How...how are you?" I know how feeble I must sound, trying to make small talk at a time like this. Great job, Mark, an evil voice in my head tells me.

"Like shit." He's still staring at his hands, and without looking at his eyes I can't tell what he's thinking. "You?"

"Like shit." I look at Roger's hands, and I see that his knuckles are white. He must be clenching his hands into fists, holding something back. My weak mind tries to think up some way to make him feel better. "Roger, about that night..."

"What about it?" My heart jumps slightly as his sudden response. It's sharp, immediate, and...bitter. Almost angry.

I falter almost immediately, but I can't back out of what I was going to say. "About...about Mim-"

"Just forget it." He stands up suddenly, not even giving me a second look. "I'll be back later." Before I can say a single word, before I can even take back what I was going to say, he is rushing out of the room, throwing the door open and slamming it behind him. I stare at the door long after he leaves.

I must have done nothing but think for hours, staring at the ceiling. God, what have I done? I'm such an idiot. Why did I try that? I know I shouldn't be doing it, know that this urge I have in my gut to escape once again...is bad. It's all wrong. I shouldn't be thinking about how beautiful it was to be able to not worry about anything, even if for only a few hours. I'm addicted, dammit, and I've only done it twice. Addicted. I need that drug. I shouldn't need it, shouldn't even entertain the notion of doing it again...but I can't.

I thought I was breaking a chain before. But it's all the same. It's all the same cycle. Only now it's worse. Now I can't break it. As long as I need heroin...I'm trapped again. My glances at freedom through shooting up would only be momentary, only for an instant. Is this the life I'm doomed to live? A life of continual pain, an instant of bliss, and a painful fall back to reality once again. It's always going to be like this. And I can't do a thing about it. The look of pain and anger in Roger's eyes, Mimi being rushed through the hospital when she's already damaged beyond repair, Collins sobbing in front of a memorial and mourning his lost love, April committing suicide after a horrible discovery...it's all the same. It's all unavoidable pain that is meant to follow me to my grave.

My life is meant to be pain. The sooner I accept that, the better it'll be. Go with the cycle, enjoy your moments of bliss, and come crashing back to earth and start the whole thing over again.

_Damn, that's a pessimistic view on life_, I tell myself. But the horrible thing is that it's reality.

.-.-.

"Thank you for making it. My name is Richard, and while you're here, we're going to work together to make our lives happier."

I am squirming in my chair, glancing around nervously at those around me. Sitting in a circle has always made me feel very uncomfortable; it's as if they're trying to make us feel like friends when we hardly know each other. The whole façade of it makes me writhe.

"Now, we have someone new joining us today." The man looked at me with sincere brown eyes that perfectly matched his brown hair. "Would you like to introduce yourself?"

Now I'm _very_ uncomfortable. If there's anything I hate most in the world, it's attention. That's why I started filmmaking in the first place: hand the focus over to somebody _else_, as long as it isn't me. Everybody turns to look at me, and even though there's only about seven of us total and they look genuinely kind (overall), I feel like they're a pack of wolves bearing down on me. "Umm...I'm Mark..."

Everyone says in scattered unison words along the lines of 'Hello, Mark' and 'Hey, Mark' or 'Nice to meet you.' Richard smiles at me. "Why don't we go around the circle so that Mark can learn our names?"

As they go around the circle, my eyes follow the order warily. Their names echo in my mind, and I notice things about each one of them. Omar's eyes are an extremely bright shade of blue. Melissa is twiddling her thumbs as she speaks. Grant looks straight ahead at nothing, as if none of us are even there. Each one of them seems odd in their own way. I wonder what sticks out about me, I wonder vaguely. Maybe my glasses, since all of them seem to either not need them or wear contacts. Maybe my hair. All of the other men have either black or brown hair, and my blonde hair stands out.

No...the rest of them seem calm. Well, besides Melissa. But overall, they seem calm, as if they understand what they are doing. Some of them who I assume have been here for a while even have a sort of glimmer of life in their eyes. I don't feel alive at all. I feel like I died ages ago, as if all the pain has numbed me from feeling anything. And I'm not calm. I don't understand what I'm doing. I don't know much of anything anymore. All I know is I feel like shit, and I can't stand being in this world anymore. As soon as I get another ticket out of here, I'm gone.

.-.-.

**A/N**: January 4th, 5:15 PM, Central Standard Time. That didn't take very long. –does a word count to make sure she had roughly 2k words- Well, the chapter itself, not counting the title, is 1,928 characters. Close enough, right? I know it looks like this is getting ready to end, and it quite possibly might. The possibility of a sequel after this is decreasing more and more in my mind. I'll just have to see what happens.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: January 7, 10:20 PM, Central Standard Time. Here we go...chapter six.

P.S. Thank you to all of the input I got from those who PMed me, reviewed, etc.! NowI get to re-write THIS chapter too! XD Only slightly, though.

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **mild violence**._

**Figuring Out My Life – Chapter Six**

"All right, now that we know everybody's names, let's recite the theme."

I blink as everybody recites in unison what I guess it their credo they begin their meetings with. All at once, visions of a small group of people in a circle holding hands, oblivious to me and my camera as they tell each other that there is no day but today, smiling and hopeful... I blink again, snapping back to reality as I tune in to what they are saying halfway through.

"We have the power to change our lives through each other." _We do? How come my life is different? Mine is nothing but a cycle._ "We will be strong of heart, will, and courage..." _Courage? To do what? _"...so that we can become reunited with ourselves."

Is that my problem? Do I enjoy detachment so much I am disconnected from myself? It would make sense. It's always been the same problem, hasn't it?

My own thoughts seem to weigh me down into my seat as the others finish the 'theme'. Richard smiles at all of us, warm and collected. I sigh, too softly for the others to hear. And all the while, something deep inside me, only barely subdued by the drugs from the rehab filtering my system, my addiction is ready to rip me up from inside...

.-.-.

_This armchair is really...squishy_, my idle brain thinks, as I sit in the almost rock-solid chair in my room. Or it's my room until I finally get out of this place. It's been getting worse lately. Mostly at night. Withdrawal is hitting me really hard, and it's making me almost sick. I've gone to those group meetings twice a week now for two weeks. And they aren't getting any better. Everybody else seems to be actually changing their lives.

I've given up. My life's beyond changing; this addiction, need to fly...it won't go away, no matterwhat I or anybody else does.Hell, I could kill myself right now and it wouldn't make any difference.

Suddenly, I feel my heart stop beating as what my idle brain has just thought up hits me harder than any of the shit I'm going through. Did I seriously just think that? I didn't mean it, I tell myself. It's just a...figure of speech. I would never kill myself...never...right? NO. I wouldn't. _Are you sure? _I've done stupid stuff before, but I would never do something that low.

I hate my brain right now. It seems to be forming on its own, torturing me with horrible thoughts, starving for the drugs I've been denied. _How do you know you wouldn't? It's a plausible theory. You want to fly away forever, but it's too hard to come back down. So don't._ NO! That's just stupid. Never... _You just don't want to show some spine for a change._ Not KILLING myself is not being a coward! _You're scared to die. Isn't that the ultimate decision you made? You're afraid of death and AIDS, and you need to face that fear. Face your fear of death. End this stupid cycle called your life._

Oh, God, now I'm feeling sick again. I fall to my knees, shaking, my head throbbing horribly, stomach lurching, every muscle cramping to the breaking point. It hurts so bad, I curl up into a ball, pressing my hands against my closed eyes...I need that feeling of flying again. I need that smack. There's no smack in a rehab, idiot. Then what else is there!

...Is that really my only other option? Such a final swipe, and it's irreversible. But is it really the answer? Is the problem with my life the fact that I'm alive? Is this some divine way of letting me know to get out of mortality and leave it behind? How can I be sure?

I wouldn't be addicted. I wouldn't have to continue the circle that makes up my life. No more disappointed looks from Collins, no more nightmares of Mimi dying and dead, no more Roger looking at me with disgust or anger or hatred...They all know I've screwed up, worse than they have. With a life so screwed up, what's the point? It's only going to get worse. The addiction, the death...Why put myself and those around me through this pain, when I can end it swiftly?

To my throbbing head, it all sounds so sensible, almost crystal clear, the only thing that has made sense since I came to this place. My whole life has been me making stupid mistakes, and it seems to me that I've finally figured out the only smart thing I can do. I open my eyes, still shaking horribly. I look around, and I see a vase of flowers some nurse brought in on the nightstand. I literally crawl over to the table, knocking it over. The glass vase shatters, and I'm left with multiple shards of glass on the ground. My hands shaking, I grab the largest shard, softly muttering under my breath, 'here's to this', before softly setting the cold and slightly wet shard of glass right on the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist. It feels like ice...

I hesitate, my hands shaking violently, but for a moment I can't bring myself to make the cut. Millions of voices are crowding around me, filling my head with waking nightmares and visions of hatred and pain. _You can't go on living like this. You can't go on living, Mark..._Weak and trembling, I clench my eyes shut, every muscle in my body tense and cramping, applying as much pressure as possible to the glass against my wrist...

"Mr. Cohen!" I hear a man's voice behind me, and I leap up, dropping the shard of glass in my hand, only faintly hearing the shatter of the glass at my feet. There is utter silence, as the doctor stares at me with wide eyes. Realizing I will most likely never get a chance at this again, I kneel down to the floor in a flash, reaching for another shard of glass, but before my fingers can close around it I am grabbed (quite roughly) by the shoulders and forced onto my bed. I hear shouts as the man pinning me down calls for help, and I struggle against him, my head throbbing worse than before...now I feel the withdrawal taking my body over completely, and I almost completely lose consciousness, separated from the rest of the world, trapped in a blackness of pain...

.-.-.

Oh, God, I lost my chance. That's the first thing that comes to my head. The second thing that comes into my head is that I must have blacked out, because everything is now quiet. Third thing...I feel like I'm lying down...and everything is dark - that's four. Thefifth thing that comes to me is the sound of voices whispering above me.

"...the hell happened!"

"Roger, calm down." Collins. Thesixth thing. (I only vaguely realizethat my exhausted mind iskeeping track of the things I'm able to think.)

"I get a phone call from a doctor saying I need to come here, so I wanna know what the fuck happened!"

"Roger - "

"Where is he?"

"Use your eyes."

A pause. A long sigh. "...Thank God. It sounded like from what I heard he was dead or something..."

"No, Rog, he's not dead..." I want to see what's happening, but I'm still trying to understand what they are talking about.

Only after Roger's next comment does it suddenly come to me that I'm the one they're talking about. "What did Mark do? He's got IVs and everything..." Silence. "Collins, tell me. What happened?"

"...Rog, according to what the doctor said, he was on the floor below Mark's room, and he heard shattering glass." Pause. "He came up and saw Mark on the ground, holding a piece of glass to his wrist."

"Oh, god..."

"Rog, whatever you try to tell him when he wakes up, don't you dare tell him..."

"Tell me what?" My voice croaks out, barely more than a whisper. I slowly open my eyes now, and deduce that my glasses must be elsewhere, since all I see above me are blurs.

"Mark." Collins sounds relieved, and I know he's abandoned whatever conversation he was having earlier. "You scared us shitless."

I squint, trying to make out the blurry figures and figure out which is Collins and which is Roger. Moments later, I feel cold metal on my face and see Roger above me slipping my glasses on. "Thanks."

Roger looks me in the eyes for a moment, then looks away, and I see that he is now sitting in a chair next to my bed. He buries his face in his hands. I try to sit up to get a better look of the room around me, but I suddenly realize the moment I try to move that there is something on my arm. I panic for a moment, realizing I'm in a hospital. I move my head slightly to look down at myself, and I see two things: a tube attached to my left arm, and (to my utter horror) a deep gash in my right wrist. My eyes go wide seeing this, and Collins must notice. "The doctors are stabilizing your body. You were going through a pretty bad row when...well..." He falters slightly, looking away from my confused and almost shocked gaze. "You didn't lose much blood, thank god. For once we are grateful you have pitiful arm strength."

I look away from Collins, unable to fathom what I attempted to do. I wasn't in my right mind at all. I must be going insane, if I had...tried to...how could I have thought that would ever solve anything? Dammit, I can even feel the addiction taking me over even now; it's dull and the softest it's been since I remember, but it's still nagging the back of my head. I look over at Roger, seeing him with his forehead resting on his clenched fist in intense thought. What the hell is he thinking about? _Probably what an idiot I am._

I look up at Collins, who I find is looking back up at me with an odd look, a look quite particular to the occasion. You can't look at somebody at any other time like you would if you were talking to somebody who almost tried to kill themselves. "Collins, I..."

"You were under stress, and you were hysterical. We all do stupid things, believe me. You just are getting your fair share around now." Collins attempts a smirk, which he somehow pulls off, but still is horribly feeble when compared to his usually shining face. "You're gonna get through it."

Lost for words, I look back at Roger, and see he has changed his position once again, with both of his hands covering his face. Finally, I hear him mutter something. "My god."

I blink multiple times before responding. "Rog, don't try to blame yourself. I'm the one who...well...You didn't have anything to do with it, Rog." I'm doing a horrible job of comforting him, and I know it.

He drops his hands, still staring at a spot on the floor. There is a long silence, during which I try to think of a better way to say what I want to say and Collins watches both of us with a mixed look on his face.Roger sighs, finally speaking. "I didn't know you thought it was that bad." Not sure what to say to this, I remain silent, and he continues, hardly waiting for a response from me. "If I had known you thought your life was that shitty, I could have told you. And now, because I'm so stupid, you almost..."

"I told you not to blame yourself." Again, Mark, you're doing a horrible job of comforting him.

He looks up at me, glum and defeated. "Mark, why do you think your life is bad enough to not keep going? Of all of us, you...? It...it doesn't make sense. Just doesn't...make sense."

"Rog, I've screwed my life up so bad now. I've gotten myself addicted to smack, and now I nearly commited suicide. I think there's a part of me that's out to make my life horrible or something." My eyes wander down, not wanting to maintain eye contact with him.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Roger begins to shout, and I can't bring myself to even look him in the eyes while he does it. "You keep running away! That's you're fucking problem! You just don't GET IT! First it's the camera, then it's LA, then it's heroin, then it's suicide! Mark, just STOP FUCKING RUNNING AWAY!"

"ROGER." I hear Collins stand up, the legs of the chair he was sitting in scraping against the linoleum. A pause, and then I hear Roger's footsteps as he rushes out of the hospital room. I can swear I hear a soft sniffle as he rushes away. I feel a single tear leak out of the corner of my eye. "Mark...get better. I'll be back tomorrow." Then I hear Collins as he walked out of the hospital room, shutting the door behind him. More tears come leaking out, and soon I'm shaking with sobs. This cycle is never going to end...


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **January 9, 5:10 PM, Central Standard Time. I still feel like a dork writing my ANs like this. XD Did I already say that I got Adam Pascal's CDs 'Model Prisoner' and 'Civilian' on iTunes and loved? No? Well, I did, and I love them. Get them. Very neat. I felt like in many of the songs it was Roger singing...Seriously! It's really interesting how I'm making all these connections to Roger through Adam's CDs.

.-.-.

_This chapter rated PG-13 for **language**._

**Figuring Out My Life – Chapter Seven**

First it's my camera. Then it's LA. Then it's heroin. Then it's suicide.

Fuck. He's right.

Stop running away.

Why? Why keep staying here?

Roger just said I should. I should just keep staying here. But why?

For a while I thought it would make me happy. Fat chance of that. It's too painful to ever be happy.

Then I thought it was because of my family. But that's falling apart, too. We're two less members than we were Christmas two years ago. And it'll get smaller, until it's just me.

What other reason is there to keep going?

I hear a light knock on the door, and I don't bother to open my eyes as I call out, "Come on in."

The door is timidly pushed open, and I open my eyes to see a shaken woman walking into the room. I blink, surprised despite myself. "Maureen?"

She looks up at me, having been staring at the floor. I look at her eyes, and for a moment I remember faintly, as if from a different life, when those eyes had filled me up with happiness and love. But not now. Now, those eyes are filled with sadness, confusion...fear. She opens her mouth as if to say something, but no words seem able to come out. She suddenly rushes completely into the room, coming to the side of my bed and falling down, pulling me into a big hug. "Oh, Mark...Collins called us, and I...Mark..."

I weakly put my arms around her, looking at the door still, where an unsure Joanne stands in the doorway watching us. "I'm...I'm fine, Maureen..."

"I was so worried about you..." I could hear the tears in her voice, and it was ripping my heart in half.

"Maureen...Mo..." I am still rather weak, and she is literally squeezing all the air out of my lungs. "...Mo...I can't breathe..."

"Oh!" She lets go of me, jumping into the chair beside my bed. She is blushing quite hard now. "Sorry..." She sniffles loudly, quickly brushing a tear away from her cheek that is threatening to fall to the ground. I can tell the smile she is displaying is for show only, to make me feel better.

It only hurts more to see her like this, so I quickly turn my head to Joanne, who is also smiling weakly. "How are you feeling?" Hearing her own voice and realizing how feeble she sounded, her smile droops slightly.

I let my eyes fall downward. "O-Ok..."

"We can only stay for a little bit. I have a meeting to get to, and Mo's applying for a job." She shrugs at this last comment.

I blink multiple times before turning to Maureen. "You're applying for a job?"

Maureen looks up at me, smiling much stronger than before. "Yeah. At a café close to our apartment. There's an opening for a hostess for late shift, so I'll be working nights."

"That...that's great, Mo." I smile weakly, trying to sound pleased. It wasn't like Maureen to suddenly emerge like this. Why the sudden decision to break her Bohemian lifestyle? ...Did it have anything to do with me?

She smiles up at me. After a pause, she glances at a watch around her wrist. "Oh, shit...I'm gonna be late." She jumps up, giving me an apologetic look. "We'd say that we would be here tomorrow, but you get no such luck."

I shrug. "It's OK. Umm...good luck on your interview."

"Thanks." With that, she grabbed her purse from off of the floor, giving Joanne a light peck on the cheek before rushing past her out the door of my room.

Joanne watches Maureen go, then looks at her own watch. "I better go too, Mark." She looks up at me. "You are having visitors tomorrow, though."

"Who?" I feel my heart beat quicken despite myself, worrying about who it could be.

"Benny."

For a moment I relax, relieved that the name I had been expecting wasn't the one I heard, then I look up in shock and confusion. "Wait...did you say Benny!"

She shrugs. "Don't ask me. Said he had something important to show you."

I roll my eyes. "Shit. If he's coming to tell me I need to pay the rent..."

"I don't think so. He sounded concerned when he told me." She gave me a meaningful look. "And if Benny is sounding concerned, it's gotta be something weird."

I blink a few times, wondering what the hell Benny could have to tell me. "Well, I'll look forward to the meeting, I guess." With that, Joanne walked out of my room, leaving me in the hospital bed with my aching body and my racing mind.

.-.-.

"Flowers? Really, Benny, are you feeling all right?" I can't suppress the smirk that forms on my lips as Benny sets a bouquet of flowers on my bedside table.

He gives me a cold grimace as he sits down in the chair. "I'm taking time off from an important business conference. If you're going to be so immature about this..."

"Whatever." I sigh, wondering how in the world Benny had gotten like this.

He pauses for a moment before going on. "And they're not from me."

"Who are they from?" I look up at him with curiosity despite myself.

He glances at me for a second, ready to tell me, then looks away, shaking his head. "You'd laugh if I tried to explain it."

"Aw, come on, Benny..." I smirk again, amazed; this must be the most I've smiled in ages. "Humor me."

A long pause ensues, during which Benny contemplates this. He finally turns to look at me. "Well...they're from Mimi."

My stomach does an odd sort of lurch, and the smirk disappears from my face. "What do you mean?" Mimi?

He looks away from me again, thinking once again. He begins his narrative, and I listen with full attention. "OK, so I had this odd dream a few nights ago. And...well, first I saw all of you guys. You and Roger and Maureen and Collins. And I was seeing all these times we had spent together. And then...well, I guess I saw Mimi. And she was smiling. You know that smile she has. And she was holding a bunch of flowers, and she said I needed to give them to you." There is a long pause, as if Benny is expecting me to say something in response to this story. But I can't think of anything to say, so he hesitantly adds, "And there's a message."

I look up at him finally, for once not glaring or annoyed at him. A neutral feeling I haven't felt since long ago, before he even met Allison. "What's the message?"

He reaches over to the bouquet of flowers, pulling a little white card out from the middle of it and handing it to me. I take it, reading it slowly. After I finished reading it, I read it over, and over, and over. Finally, I read the card aloud. "Your friends are never far away. No day but today."

Silence. "It's what she said to tell you, OK? So don't get all weird or something."

I look up at him, smirking. "You know, Benny, for all I know, you wrote this, and it's a coded profession of love to me or something." He shoots daggers at me through his glare, and I can't help but laugh. He rolls his eyes as I laugh hysterically, obviously thinking something along the lines of 'I knew I shouldn't have come here'. "Hey, I was just kidding."

He rolls his eyes again, standing up. "I should get to my conference." He heads for the door, completely through the doorway with the door half-shut behind him before he pauses, ducking back in. "Oh, you're partner-in-crime is coming tomorrow. He told me to tell you that." With that, he leaves, and I am left in a state somewhere between panic and sickness.

.-.-.

I'm lying in my hospital bed, wondering when he'll be coming. Benny didn't give me any kind of time. To give myself something better to think about, I look around. I see a calendar pinned up on the wall, and discover that today is March the tenth. I seem to have been loosing track of what day it is lately. Doesn't matter anymore, really.

I reach over to the bedside table, taking the small card Benny brought me yesterday. I read it over again, confused. I still don't understand what she means...

The knock on the door shakes me suddenly out of my trance. I stuff the card out of sight, stuffing it under my pillow. I consider throwing the flowers under my bed, so I won't have to try to explain their presence, but before I can reach for them I hear the door clicking and I look at the door, my stomach doing somersaults.

Roger enters silently, not looking at me even once as he shuts the door behind him, walking over to the chair beside my bed. He exhales very loudly, almost at the exact same time as me. A short silence, and then Roger speaks up. "Circular motion."

Two words that would sound like gibberish to other ears make me look away from him. "Yeah."

I don't expect him to continue. "I'm such a fuck up."

My thoughts darken slightly. "You? I'm the one who keeps doing this shit. I tell myself to stop, but I don't."

"Mark, it's not your fault." I look up at him, my eyebrow raised in disbelief. He shrugs, defeated. "OK, so, yeah, you fucked up pretty bad." I roll my eyes, contenting myself to lean back onto my reclined hospital bed and stare at the perfectly white ceiling. "But I'm part of it too. I'm part of the cycle." I can't find a way to deny this, since I know it is true, so I remain silent, closing my eyes. "Mark...I..." He wants to tell me what to do, give me some piece of helpful bit of advice, but instead looks away, glancing at the table. "Where the hell did these come from?"

I had completely forgotten about the flowers. "Oh, uh, those. Umm..."

Roger reaches over to the flowers, picking them up. "They're red." I see his eyes cloud over slightly. "Red was Mimi's favorite color."

I look away from him, knowing he was going to bring up Mimi. We hadn't had the chance to talk about her at all ever since she... Suddenly, I sit up straight, my eyes wide. Roger looks at me, confused. "Mark...?"

I reach under my pillow, grabbing the card and pulling it out. I read it over again, almost as if I think the key to all my problems is in those words. I become disappointed almost immediately. "So much for that idea."

Roger snatches the card away from me quickly, reading it. "'Your friends are never far away. No day but today.'" He blinks. "Did Collins give you this? It sounds like something from Life Support."

I try to think up an excuse, but feel too guilty at the thought of lying to Roger. "They're...they're from Benny..."

Just as I'm ready to explain the entire thing, he stops me. "Wait. I know." He's reading the card over again. "He told me before he came to see you. But he didn't want to show me the card."

I look away from him once again. How would it feel to read a message supposedly written by your dead girlfriend? I remain silent as he reads it over again. Finally, he sets the card down on the table. "Mark...why do you not want to stay here? Why do you have to run away?"

I bite my lip. "It...it's always so..." He wouldn't understand it, but I can't find any other ways to express my problem. "...Painful."

Roger glances aver at the card, then back at me. "Mark...we're here for you. I told you I would be here for you, didn't I? That I would help you?"

I finally look up at him. "But..." I choke on the words I want to say. _You won't always be here. Mimi's death reminded me that._ "But...you..."

He looks away from me, his face dark. "But I'm gonna die. And Collins is gonna die." Not sure what to say to this, I nod, ashamed. He looks back up at me, an odd light in his eyes. "But Mark, we will still be here. I know we won't _be_ here, but we'll still leave our mark. When Angel died, everything she did didn't disappear, did it? And now..." He chokes now, but continues on, and I suspect he is holding back tears. "And now Mimi...she'll still be a part of us. And, well, when we're all gone...I guess...you just need to remember all the great times we have together. I think...I think that's what Mimi was trying to say."

I could have sworn Angel had been there sitting next to me. I could see that same light in Roger's eyes as he spoke. I knew Roger was saying it, but it was Angel speaking to me. _You have life! You just don't understand how beautiful your life can be yet._ My life could be amazing, if I make the most of it. I still have at least one more day with Roger and Collins and everyone else. I can't leave them, because our time together isn't forever. It's going to be wonderful. "I...I think you're right..."

.-.-.


	8. Epilogue: Mark

**A/N: **January 11th, 8:40 AM, Central Standard Time. This is the epilogue to Mark's three part story. It has been wonderful diving into Mark's character and learning so much about things like NYC geography and Judaism and heroinand just random factoids. But most importantly I feel like I have found another way to re-instate Jonathan Larson's message in the musical. I hope you will always remember the lessons he has taught us, and what Mark has learned from all of his experience he really should have known all along.

.-.-.

**Epilogue – Mark**

"Mark!"

I'm walking weakly into the hospital lobby, leaning on Roger's shoulder, blinking multiple times as I hear a voice from beside me. I turn to see Maureen there, holding my camera, laughing her head off. "MAUREEN!" I make to dive at my camera and retrieve it, but Roger, laughing at me, holds me back.

"No, no, no, Marky!" Maureen gives me a devious smile. "_You_ get to be in front of the camera for a change."

"What?" I'm still trying to get to my camera. "Maureen, please! That's an irreplaceable model!"

"Sit down, or I'll drop it out the window!" Glowering slightly, I sit down in the nearest chair. Maureen moves to stand in front of me, twiddling with the knobs. "How do you zoom in?" I try to stand up, but Roger stops me, making me sit back down with a smug grin on his face. "Oh, wait, I think I've got it...OK, Mark."

I wait in silence, confused. Roger gives me a nudge, whispering softly in my ear. "Talk to the camera." He ducks out of view of the camera, and I am left staring at my own camera.

I watch the crank on my camera rotate as it films me, glancing at everybody in the lobby in turn. Joanne, standing beside Maureen, smiling at me encouragingly. Collins, sitting in a chair, smirking slightly. Roger, giving me one of his commonly used masks (a smug grin) to hide what I know is probably anxiety. He doesn't know what I'm going to say. Of course, I don't know what I'm going to say either, but I start talking anyways.

"March thirteenth..." I glance at a clock on the wall. "...5:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time. I have finally been released from the hospital to return to the rehab for a few more weeks." I pause for a moment. "I haven't picked up my camera since almost a month ago. I remember that night clearly. A little too clearly." I glance in Roger's direction nervously for a moment, but he isn't watching me, instead looking off into space with a dark look in his eyes. I look back at the camera. "I don't think anybody here wants to think that night happened. But it did.

"My first reaction was to get away. I guess that's what I've always done, no matter what. So I tried." With a defiant singular motion, I raise up my right forearm, lowering the sleeve to reveal not only the red scar across my wrist but the remains of the track marks. "Witness of my stupidity." I hide the marks once again, sighing long and loud, looking at the floor for a moment. The air in the room is tense, and I know everybody is uncomfortable at what I've done. I look back up at the camera, ready to continue. "I've tried running away at least four different ways now. I think that's a record." I try to laugh, but it doesn't seem right, so instead I pause before continuing. "And I wanted to give up. What's the point? It's...a circular motion." The words croak out of my throat, grating against my vocal cords. I hear Roger let out a very soft and short laugh. After closing my eyes and composing myself (failing to do so), I open my eyes to look back at the camera, my voice shaking. "And then two angels visited me."

I see Joanne wipe away a tear from the corner of her eye, and I'm smiling weakly in spite of myself. "These angels...came in the most unlikely way possible. One was through my landlord." I pause, my smile widening slightly. "And the other came through my best friend." I glance at Roger, and I see him turn to look at me now, eyes confused and hazy. I know he is holding back tears just like me. We watch each other for a moment, and then I turn back to the camera, continuing with my shaky voice. "A while back, almost two months ago...I had a dream. I was told...that I didn't see how beautiful my life was." I pause, laughing lightly. "And I didn't. An-" I choke, but I know I can't stop now. "Angel's words fell on deaf ears.

"Then, a few days ago...I saw a different angel. All this angel had to give me was a card attached to some flowers from my landlord. But I didn't understand what Mimi meant...I was still lost..." I can feel my hands shaking at my sides, and I hear Maureen sniffle loudly from behind the camera. Collins is being less conspicuous; he's shaking with sobs, tears falling slowly down his cheeks. "And then, Angel had to tell me one more time. I knew it was her, even though it was his mouth telling me..." I look at Roger, who is now sitting down, hands covering his face. I take a deep breath, looking back at the camera. "My family...may not be here tomorrow...so I...I have to...to spend time now...while I can...and e-even when they're gone...they'll still be here..." I can't help from letting the tears leak out of my eyes now. "...Because they love me...and I love them...and th-they're what makes me get through another day...knowing they're there..."

I break down, burying my face in my hands. A few moments later, I feel soft arms around mine, her tears mingling with my hair as she sobs. Then another pair of delicate arms traps the two of us in a strong hug, and I continue to cry in Maureen and Joanne's embraces. Soon Collins has joined us, and, not long after, I feel the last of us join our big embrace, me in the center, crying, a smile on my face. I whisper softly, too soft for anybody around me to hear. "No day...but today..."

.-.-.

_March 29th, 4:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time. Back at the loft. Roger is in the 'living room', playing a song I've never heard before. He keeps starting and stopping, doing it over, tweaking it, repeating himself. Collins is moving in to Joanne and Maureen's old apartment tomorrow, since he's been expelled from NYU. (They caught him.) I saw the new place Joanne bought; it'll be a nice place for them. They'll do fine in it._

_I went into Roger's room yesterday, something I hardly ever dare to do. I saw a small velvet box open on his bedside table, next to the picture of all of us I developed long ago. Inside the box was a stunning diamond ring. I wonder if Roger will find somebody to give that ring someday. Then again, he probably won't. It's Mimi's ring._

_Everybody is, once again, and as usual, progressing through their lives._

_And I'm going to be a part of every second of it._

.-.-.

**A/N**: I hope you all enjoyed Mark's story. IT'S OVER.

...OK, not quite. The only problem is, I'm only finished with the FIRST CHAPTER. And my policy of posting stories only once their finished might come in handy. Here is a sneak preview of what is to come (if my brain keeps writing). I'm sure you'll love it if you loved this series. Only thing is, it's not _Mark's_ story...

.-.-.

_Sneak Peak at the Continuation, 'Wander Through Life' (Working Title)!_

After seeing him get a grip on himself (finally)...I panicked. _Shit_, I thought. _He's moving on, figuring out everything_. _But I'm still trying to learn_.

Probably the thing he says the most is "my family". But every time he says it, even he can't help faltering slightly. At first, I wondered what he was worried about. And then I remember. He said himself he doesn't have forever with us. And I think I'm next...I think I'm next to go.

Both of us have been stuck in this kind of wasteland for years it seems. But now _he's_ got a compass. He knows where he is. I'm happy for him, believe me. Couldn't be happier. But he's been so excited that he knows where he is and where he's going, he's gone on so fast and left me behind. So I'm kinda screwed. I can't go back and 'face my fears' like him. I can't go back and look through old films and discover something about myself. I don't have film.

I have songs. Big whoop.


End file.
